


Paint Job

by cptxrogers



Series: just the smut [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Cars, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6521179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptxrogers/pseuds/cptxrogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want me to <i>what</i>?” Steve looked incredulous.<br/>“I want you to detail my car,” Tony said with a smirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint Job

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [RDJ's fault](http://buzzfeed.tumblr.com/post/140810014297/question-for-chris-and-robert-chris-what-would) for suggesting Steve should solve the civil war issue by turning himself in and cleaning Tony's cars as penance.
> 
> I'd like to thank the universe for providing this opportunity to indulge my interests in both Steve/Tony and car detailing.

“You want me to _what_?” Steve looked incredulous.

“I want you to detail my car,” Tony said with a smirk. “The Shelby Cobra. It's a classic, you know, and it's a genuine original. Do you have any idea how rare they are? Really, I'm giving you a tremendously special opportunity to touch a piece of history here. I'd think you of all people would understand the value of touching history.” Tony waggled his eyebrows salaciously.

“I can't believe you,” Steve scowled. “When I said I wanted to make it up to you-”

“Actually,” Tony interrupted, poking Steve in the chest for emphasis, “Your exact words were 'Whatever it takes, Tony.' And here I was, thinking that you were all about honesty and integrity. Or doesn't the word of Captain America mean anything?”

“No, look, that's not it, it was just that I was thinking more along the lines of, I don't know...” Steve trailed off, his mind flailing as he tried to think of something he could offer which would actually be of use to Tony. “...Helping you with training? Advising on tactical upgrades to the suit? Carrying heavy things?” He realized how ridiculous he sounded and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he said, slumping slightly. “I'll wash your car.”

Tony looked pleased but a little shocked that this particular battle had been so easily won, and raised an eyebrow in question.

“Whatever it takes,” Steve said with a sigh.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Steve arrived at Stark Tower a few days later as instructed, fidgeting as he paused outside the doorway to Tony's workshop. He had faced down gods and monsters and super-enhanced nazis; surely he could handle placating Tony's ego for a couple of hours. Maybe it would even be good for them to spend a little time together, work out some of the tension. 

“Well, Rogers,” Tony's voice carried over the intercom from somewhere in the workshop. “Are you coming in, or were you planning on cluttering up my hallway while you preen for a little longer?”

So they were back to using last names now. Terrific. Steve's attempted mix of casual and dignified comportment was somewhat undermined as he walked into the space and was distracted by the familiar smell of Tony: motor oil and metal filings, scents never quite hidden under the expensive cologne. As Tony appeared from behind a pile of suit parts, casual and comfortable in jeans and a tank top, Steve gave him a tight nod. “Stark.”

Tony looked him up and down. “It's a pity you didn't wear the uniform,” he said, taking in Steve's old sweatpants and plain white t-shirt. “That I would have liked to see.”

“You know that if I wreck my uniform, you're the one who has to fix it, right?”

“You're absolutely right, and these magic fingers have more important things to work on. And anyway, I'd hate to be the one responsible for besmirching a national icon with grubby brake dust.”

“So.” Steve resolutely ignored the teasing. “Where's the car?”

“It's that curvy blue work of art in the corner,” Tony indicated a low-slung vintage roadster with a long, sweeping hood and chrome accents. “It's not quite as old as you, but I figured it was as close as I was going to get.”

“Considerate as ever,” Steve said dryly as he went over to inspect the vehicle and the cleaning supplies laid out next to it. Laid out, Steve noted, with a degree of care and attention which belied Tony's flippant attitude. He wandered around the car and took in its soft lines and gentle curves as he gathered up what he needed. Tony blustered around the workshop, all manic energy and barely-contained smugness, until he caught sight of Steve getting ready to work and made a beeline for him. 

“Jesus, Rogers, is that a _single bucket_? For the love of god, you'll put scratches in the clear coat!” Tony snapped, looking genuinely distressed. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I know how to wash a damn car, Stark,” he said, picking up an empty second bucket with a grit guard banging around inside and waving it at Tony. “I used to work in a garage in Brooklyn. I imagine my hands have seen more action than yours.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow at that, and Steve could feel a slight blush rise on his cheeks. “A cute little thing like you in a garage in Brooklyn?” Tony needled. “I'm sure you did.” Steve thought he ought to be used to Stark's incessant innuendos by now, but even after all this time they still managed to get under his skin.

Tony winked at him – actually _winked_ , the smug bastard – and sauntered off towards his work bench. Steve returned his attention to the task at hand, filling up the two buckets from the sink in the corner of the workshop: one with soapy water, one with clean, because he might be unsure about where he was with Tony right now, but he was sure that he was going to do this properly. If you're going to do a job, you do it right. And it was a nice car, Steve had to admit, with its low, wide stance and softer curves than you see on modern cars. The glossy blue paint was in exceptional condition, without any chips or cracks, but it was lightly spattered with road dust. A careful cleaning would have it looking even better. 

Steve carried the buckets back to the car and dropped a clean cloth into the soapy water. He wrung it out, then began wiping down the paintwork in long, straight strokes, let his hand slide gently over the undulating curves of the 60s hood. The soap left a trail of tiny bubbles across the blue paint, and he took the cloth from the clean water bucket and mopped away the excess. After a few passes he could already see the paint he had worked on was shiny and gleaming, and he felt a small smile of satisfaction tugging at the corners of his lips.

Steve glanced up and saw Tony, sat his his work bench and distinctly not working, eyeing him with a smile of his own. Steve grit his teeth and ignored it. If Tony wanted to gawp at Steve while he was working, then he could go right ahead.

As Steve moved to the other side of the car, he had to bend carefully to avoid the delicate side pipes running along the underside of the Cobra while he washed down the middle of the hood. Reaching a little too far forward, he cursed under his breath as his t-shirt rode up across his abs and brushed against the wet paintwork, soaking the bottom few inches of fabric. He ignored the strangled coughing noise coming from the other side of the workshop that he assumed was Tony trying not to laugh. This was why you were supposed to work from the middle of the car towards the outside, he reprimanded himself, sighing at the sight of his soggy shirt clinging to his chest before methodically finishing the side panel.

He moved to wiping down the wheels before taking a wheel brush and scrubbing hard at the underside of the flared wheel arches. The angle was awkward, and he was on his knees, bending forward to scrape at the thick black brake dust, when he heard fidgeting behind him and turned to see Tony scrutinizing him closely. 

“For fuck's sake, I'm not going to wreck the paint from under here, Stark!” Steve snarled, feeling the last of his patience fray. Tony always wore him down fast. “You don't need to control every goddamn move I make.” 

“Just admiring the view, Cap,” Tony smirked back at him. Steve huffed out a breath and looked irritated, but Tony caught the way that his ears flushed red at the top. “And anyway, I think you like it when I get a bit controlling.”

Steve pulled his head out of the wheel well and opened his mouth to emphatically disagree, but stopped short when he realized Tony had marched across the room and was leaning over him, one hand splayed against the hood of the Cobra. From where he was kneeling by the wheel, Steve had to crane his head back to look up at Tony. It was an angle he wasn't used to seeing. Bossiness and innuendos, sure, he was well familiar with them. But now there was an intensity to Tony now that Steve hadn't observed before; an unfamiliarly singular focus as Tony loomed over him.

Steve scrambled to his feet with uncharacteristic inelegance, not trusting himself to speak without saying something he would regret. He opted for meeting Tony's look instead and aimed for defiance. There was a gleam in Tony's eye that Steve, if pressed, would have described as predatory.

“I think you like having someone push back.” Tony said, advancing on him. “I think you're tired of always having to make the decisions.” Steve found himself backed up against the side of the car. “I think what you really want is someone to take charge of you once in a while.”

Steve could feel the blood pumping through his veins, a dull thrumming behind his eyes, and an itchiness across his skin which he associated with his interactions with Tony. Tony wouldn't _listen_ and he always had to be _right_ and he never backed down. It drove Steve to distraction, but he was self-aware enough to realize that was because it was uncomfortably familiar. Tony had always known how to get under his skin; how to drive him from zero to apoplectic in seconds. The come-ons were merely the latest iteration of Tony gleefully pushing his buttons. 

Steve’s cheeks heated as Tony rested each hand against the Cobra’s hood, boxing him in. Steve tried for flip as he glanced down at the car. “And you’re offering to boss me around while I perform household chores for you, is that it? My, how very appealing.”

“No,” Tony said, leaning forward until he was inches away from Steve, inserting himself into his personal space with a smirk. “That’s not what I’m offering.” Everything felt distant and surreal as Tony ran his hand across Steve’s shoulder, down his bicep and along his arm, until he held his wrist loosely. With a sharp tug, he spun Steve around until he was pressed up against his back, Steve leaning forward to catch himself on the hood of the Cobra. 

Tony viciously kicked out Steve's right ankle and jeez, he must really be slipping with his training because his reflexes felt dull and sluggish as he barely managed to get his hands down before he slammed face-first into the hood of the car. His fingers clutched at the surface of the cool aluminum and he felt a vague concern about denting the bodywork until he was distracted the weight of Tony pressing him down. One of Tony's hands rested on the middle of his back, with just enough pressure that it couldn't be called tender, as he leaned over him. “Is this what you came here for, Rogers?” Tony asked, his voice low and scratchy, and he ground his hips against Steve's ass. “Is this what you wanted?”

Steve could feel himself blushing, and he was going to tell Tony exactly where he could shove his perverted mind games, he really was, but he could feel Tony's cock hard through his jeans and his body had other ideas about the situation. He groaned as Tony ground against him again, feeling himself hardening and pushing back against Tony to increase the friction between them. Tony slid his hands up his back, rucking up his t-shirt to reveal the tight muscles of his shoulders, and dragged his fingernails down to leave red scratches on the smooth skin as Steve gasped.

“Tell me to stop,” Tony said, gripping his chin and turning his head so they were looking each other in the eye, “And I will.”

“Don't stop,” Steve said, voice breathy, the words out of his mouth before he had time to think about it. “Please.”

“Fuck, Rogers,” Tony said, taking his hand from Steve's face and rubbing it down his side. “Begging's a good look on you.”

Steve was about to protest that he was not begging, thank you very much, that had technically been pleading, but his train of thought was interrupted by the feeling of Tony squeezing his cock through his sweat pants. One of Tony's hands rubbed up and down his cock while the other pushed down between his shoulder blades, crotch still grinding up against his ass. A second later, Steve let out a hiss of frustration as Tony moved away.

“Don't you dare move,” Tony commanded as he disappeared over to a bench to dig through some draws. Steve was left bent over the car, feeling confused and a little humiliated and exceedingly turned on. 

He heard Tony banging around, opening drawers until he gave a small hum of satisfaction. Steve turned his head to see Tony slathering lube over the fingers of his right hand from a tube held in his left. Steve was breathing hard as Tony stalked back over and yanked hard on Steve's hair.

“I told you not to move,” Tony snapped as he shoved Steve's head back down and tugged his sweatpants and underwear down to his thighs. Steve made an admittedly undignified noise as his cock bounced free, hard and slapping against the cool metal of the car. Tony pressed down on him from above, and Steve knew he could push him off if he wanted to, knew that he probably should stop this before things went too far. It wasn't like they were in the best of places right now; adding sex to the mix was unlikely to help. But then Tony's lube-wet fingers were running over his entrance and Steve decided that fuck it, for once he was going to forget about what he ought to do and focus on what he wanted.

Tony slid a finger inside him with one hand as he held him down with the other. Steve squirmed and forced himself to relax, letting out the breath he'd been holding. “You're so tight,” Tony purred over him. “No wonder you're so needy to get fucked.” After a few strokes he slid a second finger inside, not letting Steve relax into it, and started pumping his fingers slowly in and out.

Steve felt himself stretching with a burn that was both painful and pleasurable as Tony gradually increased the speed of his fingers. When his fingers suddenly stilled and the pressure on his back decreased, Steve moaned and pushed back. Tony was looking down at him, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide, as he ordered, “Fuck yourself on my fingers, Rogers. I want to watch you. You're so desperate like this.”

Steve compiled without stopping to think about it, chasing the sensation of rhythm and movement which Tony had established. His fingertips pushed into the smooth paint of the car as he rocked himself back and forth onto Tony's fingers. As he was settling into a rhythm, Tony curled his fingers slightly. Steve shoved himself back hard, hard enough for Tony's long fingers to brush his prostate, and he let out a ragged moan.

“Do you want more, Rogers?” Tony asked, pulling his fingers most of the way out. “I want to hear you say it.”

“God, yes,” Steve groaned.

Tony pulled his fingers out completely. “Yes, what?”

“Yes please,” Steve bit out. “Please, Tony. I want it. I want your cock. I want you inside me.”

Tony’s eyes widened as he inhaled deeply as he moved to cup himself through his jeans. “You sound so good when you beg,” he breathed, unzipping his fly and drawing out his hard cock. As he produced a condom from a pocket and rolled it on, Steve wondered if he planned this, if this was something he had been waiting for. The thought made him flush all over, and when Tony reached for more lube, Steve writhed impatiently. 

“You’re so fucking needy,” Tony said, running his hand up and down his cock as he cast an appreciative eye over Steve, exposed and panting from where he was bent over the hood of the Cobra. Tony lined himself up behind Steve. “If I’d known that all it takes to shut you up is a good fucking, I’d have shoved my dick down your throat months ago.”

Any hope for a witty retort was lost as Tony pushed himself into Steve, slowly but with an inexorable firmness. Steve felt him filling him up, pushing forward hard enough to sting, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. The air was driven out of Steve’s lungs and he tried to breathe, to relax, focusing on the way the light bounced off the glossy blue paint in front of his face. When he bottomed out, Tony paused, fingertips digging into Steve’s hips. 

Steve was breathing in short, hard pants as he squeezed his eyes shut and sparks raced across his skin. Tony drew himself back and then slammed forward again and Steve let out a breathy moan. Tony fucked him hard and slow, Steve's hands twitching against the shiny metal with each hard thrust. Building up to a rapid pace, Tony leaned forward to change the angle of his thrusts, and Steve saw stars for a moment as he brushed his prostate. Steve was shaking, letting out a series of indistinct sobbing sounds. “God, Tony, please,” he gasped. “I'm gonna...”

Tony bent further forward, still thrusting, and wrapped his hand around Steve's throat. He squeezed Steve's windpipe, hard enough that it would bruise anyone else, and hissed in his ear, “If you come on the paintwork, Rogers, I swear to god I'll make you clean it up with your tongue.” And that mental image was it for Steve, with Tony's cock brushing his prostate and Tony's hand clenched round his neck and Tony's breath hot in his ear. He came hard, splattering come over the the Cobra, leaving long white streaks across the shiny blue paint.

Tony's hips slowed for a moment as his breath hitched. “Jesus, you're into that idea? You're even more of a slut than I thought.” Steve could only whine in response from where he had collapsed across the hood of the car. With a fresh more hard thrusts Tony bit back a groan as he came too, fingers flexing against the junction of Steve's neck and shoulder, riding out the waves that washed over him.

Steve lay boneless for a minute as he came back down to earth and felt Tony slowly pulling away and running a hand down his back with a small humming noise. He heard Tony roll off the condom and toss it into a can of god knows what on a nearby bench, then tuck himself back into his jeans and attempt to smooth down his shirt and his hair at the same time. Despite his best efforts, Tony still looked distinctly rumpled.

“Well that was...” Steve considered, straightening up and readjusting his clothing as he turned to perch on the hood of the car.

“Cathartic?” Tony offered.

“Not quite the word I'd use, but near enough.” Steve gave a shy smile. On impulse, he tugged Tony towards him and kissed him gently. He was unsure if he was overstepping the bounds of whatever this was between them, but he relaxed when he felt Tony smiling against his lips before he pulled away. “So, are you going to make me, y'know...” he gestured at the smudged streaks of come across the hood of the car.

“I don't know, I think I might keep it like that. A custom paint job from Captain America himself,” Tony grinned. “Oh come on, you're not actually blushing after what we just did?”

“I'm concerned about the state of the car, that's all,” Steve said, trying and failing to hide his smile. “Washing it turned out to be more satisfying than I imagined.”

“Well if you're interested,” Tony said, sliding his arm round Steve's shoulders companionably, “I've got plenty of other cars down in the garage which could use a good clean.”

**Author's Note:**

> The car in question:  
>   
> ok yes technically Tony's Cobra got destroyed in IM1 but he totally went out and bought another because he's Tony friggin Stark
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://cptxrogers.tumblr.com) if you're into that sort of thing, and this story is also posted [here](http://cptxrogers.tumblr.com/post/143077413129/fic-paint-job).


End file.
